


Black

by wickedwriter916



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, But Not As Much As I Was Expecting, Drunken Karaoke, Established Relationship, F/M, Past Relationship(s), big fight, bitches be cray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwriter916/pseuds/wickedwriter916
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he belts Pearl Jam's Black off key his last three turns, they don't fault him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta'd aside from the read-aloud I did before posting. Any and all mistakes are mine.

Clint isn't sure whatever had possessed him to start something in the first place. Looking back now all he can see is her persistance (not wanting to be told no), her youth, _Christ she was so fucking young_ , and her smile. The way it crinkled to the edges of her eyes, full of teeth and bright red lips. She always looked so beautiful when she smiled. She was beautiful when she scowled too, but that smile made his heart pound like a 16-year old getting to third base for the first time, and his mind just vacant the premises. They hooked up just after the Destroyer leveled Puente Anitguo, it was dirty and wet (from tears and kisses and come), and it was awesome. He remembered being blissed out for hours until his phone rang, Coulson called him back to duty and he left her tangled in the sheets and snoring to wake the dead.

He hadn't left a number but he hadn't needed to. Two years later, back at SHIELD after everything that had happened with London, he heard a familiar "Hey, you!" from down the hall and turned to be greeted with a slap and a mind-numbing kiss; all very cliche in a crowded hallway full of agents. When Clint could get his brain back from parts unknown he gently pushed Darcy away and told her, in no uncertain terms, that he just didn't do this. One night stands, and weekend-long sex marathons sure, but the waiting and the worrying and the Honey-I'm-Home sex in the kitchen-bathroom-2-am-we-can-still-fuck-before-the-alarm-goes-off domestic bullshit, Clint Barton was just not her guy. She scowled (looking fucking gorgeous) and told him she'd see about that and he knew he was fucked.

\--

Two years, one month, three weeks and five days later Clint knew where he'd gone wrong. He'd caved. He said yes to her, her smile, her plans and now he was bruised and grumpy and staring down at his girl (no-longer his girl) stalk out of the Tower in a peacoat and red beret. They'd outlasted the missions, the Avengers assembling and the weeks of no word because Fury was still sending him out on kill missions where there was nothing but shitty weather and waiting. Where he couldn't call and hear that smile in her voice when she rambled on about her day in the labs with Jane and Bruce, or what shopping she did with Pepper or that her brothers where coming to town and wanted to meet to get drunk and tell embarassing stories about each other.

They'd survived everything but Bobbi. He'd been sent out to Los Angeles to meet with his ex and Natasha on a mission, Darcy had misgivings before he left, but he'd silenced them and promised her that he and Bobbi were through. From what he saw of the security tapes (he was in a coma, sue him), Bobbi and Darcy had a near throw down in the waiting room of the ER while he was in surgury. Natasha restrained Bobbi, which Clint gets, Bobbi's a SHIELD agent, Darcy is a lab assistant. But when Natasha suggested Darcy go to the cafeteria for a time she apparently took it as the ultimate betrayal. Natasha had words with Bobbi, who was gone by the time Darcy returned with a coffee and has been giving Natasha the cold shoulder ever since.

Darcy got word, he knows from Bobbi, that they're still married, getting a divorce has not been his number one priority because, hello occasionally saving the world, and heard a nasty rumor, again Bobbi, that they were reconciling. It was childish but he hadn't thought Bobbi would go that low, the fact that Natasha was not in his corner about this wasn't any better. He'd taken a bullet for his wife, ex-wife, because it was that or hold her as she died, and while he wasn't admitting that there were still feelings for Bobbi Morse, he was saying that there was familiarity. It wasn't like he wouldn't take one for Darcy, it's just that he thinks that if he and Bobbi interacted more that once every few years they might have a rapport similar to him and Natasha, and Darcy never had a problem with Nastasha until now. When he'd come to, fifteen days after they wheeled him in on a bloody gurney to the hysterical cries of Bobbi, "Oh my god! Please save him! That's my husband!", he was in a cold room with Coulson and a bedside table full of paperwork.

"Where's Darcy?" he had asked.

Phil gave him a wane smile, "it's points in your favor your first thought was of her. She's back at the Tower," he said quietly.  
That's all that he could get out of him, and Clint was vibrating with concern when they released him four days later and she hadn't come to visit him once. She hadn't answered any one of his texts, and everytime he called it when to voicemail after two rings so she was actively ingoring them. When he dropped his bag inside their apartment in the Tower it was frigid. He could see his old TV was brought up from storage, her chair and ottoman was gone, he didn't even want to check the bedroom. He wasn't sure if he was angry, terrifed or just sad. He turned on his heel and headed to the elevators his heart sinking lower into his stomach in anticipation of the conversation he knew was coming.

She saw him through the glass outside of the labs and straightened immediately. There was a new guy in there that he thought he remembered from the London incident, but with the way her eyes were burning holes into his skull he couldn't stand to remember.

Intercepting him in the hallway she led him back toward the elevators but made no move to press any buttons.  
"I can't do this," she said harshly. "I've moved myself out so you can have the apartment, so you and Ms. California can do whatever the fuck you want to do together."

Clint let out a heavy sigh and his heart turned to stone, "Bobbi and I aren't reconcilling, we've been trying to get a divorce for the last three years, but she said that she wanted to try and I told her about you," he swallowed heavily.

"Yeah, well, she obviously doesn't think too highly about any of this," she gestured between the two of them, "because she was spouting off bullshit about you two the whole fucking time you were laid up. Which, I thought I could handle but you fucking died Clint, for her," she was blinking harshly, trying to keep the tears at bay that he could see.

His eyes were stinging as well and his chest felt empty, "I would have done the same for Natasha, I would have done the same for you Darce," he moved like he wanted to reach for her but she flinched back, her resolve back in place.

"No, Clint. You did it for your _wife_ ," she spit the word, "and I'm not going to get dragged through the mud while you two try and figure things out," she turned to leave him there.

"There's nothing to figure out with Bobbi, I don't love her, I've never had to try with you Darcy I love you so much that I'm not sure what else there is," there were tears now, he could feel his eyes betraying him.

She turned on her heel, face blotchy and eyes red, "You'll figure it out," she said with a huff and moved back through the lab door.

\--

So now he watches her, and while Natasha still wasn't speaking with him, the eyebrows of doom she was shooting his way were certainly telling him that he was being a creepy stalker and he needed to stop. He didn't follow her down the halls, and he wasn't even sure where she had moved her stuff to, out of respect for her wishes but he missed her. He missed the little snorts she made in her sleep, pulling the covers and tangling herself into a blanket burrito, the way she would dance around to music in her underwear. How every time she cooked it had to be to classic rock, and because Sundays were cooking days there was usually a weeks worth of lasgana in the freezer and even more spaghetti sauce in ziplock bags. Weekend breakfasts included latkes and sausage and eggs that were equally cheesy, and now he ate cold oatmeal and cereal with questionable milk in yesterdays oatmeal bowl. He resorted back to ramen and canned soup, avoiding the communial areas at all costs, unless it was to sneak a glimpse of his (not)girl.

When she left out of the lab and he could sneak past a distracted Jane, he checked out her recently played on her iTunes (since she never left her phone lying about) and was surpised it was more Scott Weiland and Eddie Vedder than Adele. He's not even in the elevator yet before the phone is ringing in his ear and Pepper's assistant answers in a crisp tone that he says he's on his way up and he needs to see her boss now.

Pepper is cordial if not cold to him, which tells him all he needs to know and so he just asks, "can you get me a lawyer, ASAP?"  
She seems a bit taken aback by that and flutters through her roladex quickly. "What exactly do you need, Agent-"

"A divorce lawyer, one who's effecient and tenacious and who can get this taken care of yesterday," he stuffs his hands in his pockets and breathes freely for the first time in weeks.

She sniffs quietly and hands him a business card. "Give him a call, Clint," she says it a little warmer, but he still feels like its iced daggers.

He walks out without another word, half the number already punched in.

\--

A manilla envelop shows up with an older man in a suit and fedora the next day, "Mr. Barton? I believe these are for you," he smiles slightly.

Clint takes the enevelop and spills its contents onto the kitchen island. He can see Bobbi's neat scrawl next to little flags. He signs his name next to all of his, nearly tearing through the paper. A single note stand out that reads, 'Can we please talk about this? -B' and he hastily shoves it back in with the rest of his signed papers and hands it back to the waiting attorney. "Not to be rude," Clint smiles, and it feels like a relief, "but I really need this taken care of."

The old man shakes his head, "not at all, I'm glad I could help," he smiles warmly and is on his way.

Clint knows that Pepper has everything to do with this, and probably Natasha to. There is no way that those papers would have been delivered to him personally next day, let alone with Bobbi's signature already present. He gets a text at 6:30 that evening from Pepper, saying simply that it's done.

Nobody would blame him for having celebratory drinks with Tony and Natasha (Steve's been a bit of a wet blanket since he found out about Bobbi and Clint doesn't need another judgy person judging him), which turns into drunken karaoke in the common room. If he belts Pearl Jam's Black off key his last three turns, they don't fault him.

When he wakes up on the floor in the morning, he's warm and blissed out dispite the headache. There's the smell of latkes and sausage and equally cheesy eggs wafting through the air, and he's wrapped up like a burrito in a blanket that smells like Darcy.

And he knows everything might turn out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my, when I originally had plans for this fic it was way more angsty! This ending didn't happen AT ALL how I had planned it. I blame hormones.


End file.
